


Where the Streets Have No Name

by glennjaminhow



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-22 23:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: "It gets dark surprisingly fast, and mosquitos are slurping on them, a buffet of Philly, alcohol-injected blood. Dennis scoots closer to Mac, leaning his head on his shoulder and inhaling deeply."





	Where the Streets Have No Name

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a request I received on Tumblr.

Jagged, craggy mountains brood and loom over them. The heaven-touching summit is drenched in brilliant, explosive light. It makes Dennis feel terrifyingly small, but it leaves him in a trance that isn’t worth breaking. They sit on a ledge overlooking the view, silence soaking into Dennis’ bones. They sip slowly on their beers, transfixed in the illusion on life. Being here, right here and right now, is almost cosmic, out of this universe.

Dennis yawns, muscles aching from a day of hiking through the Rocky Mountains and left ankle a little swollen in his shoe from being a 'clumsy, uncoordinated bitch' on the rocks earlier. The thin, exposed chill of night seeps through the balmy mid-July day. The Rover is only 50 feet away, but that’s a lifetime to Dennis. He glances over at Mac, legs dangling toward the abyss and leaning his forearms on a railing. His downward slanted eyes fight to stay open. His red t-shirt is sticky with sweat. He smells like iron and yeast.

It gets dark surprisingly fast, and mosquitoes are slurping on them, a buffet of Philly, alcohol-injected blood. Dennis scoots closer to Mac, leaning his head on his shoulder and inhaling deeply. They should’ve brought a tent or something because the hotel is so agonizingly far away. This is easily the most exercise either of them have gotten in ages, but it is a nice change of pace from drinking and smoking all the time; although, Dennis isn’t opposed to either of those things right now. But the Rover’s over there, collecting dust from the gravel road, and they’re here. Dennis can’t bring himself to move. He’s afraid everything will fall to pieces if he does.

“These stars are really awesome, Den,” Mac whispers. Dennis melts into Mac’s voice. “We don’t get stars like this in Philly.”

Dennis nods, but he doesn’t say anything. Energy fades from his body quickly. He hasn’t eaten since lunch. He isn’t hungry, but Mac’s been trying this new schedule with him, and they’re behind on dinner by about three hours now. Dennis hates that his stomach notices, but he likes that Mac supports him and looks out for him and doesn’t push to eat everything, just something, even if it’s only crackers and ginger ale or half a turkey sandwich with a glass of water.

“We should head back. I’m all gross, and I wanna crash.”

Mac goes to move, but Dennis clings to his arm. No. Not this. Not yet. Mac sighs, but he wraps his arm around Dennis’ shoulders regardless.

For a long time, Dennis thought he didn’t have feelings, that he couldn’t express himself without rage or panic, but Mac’s here, and Mac makes everything better. He’s Dennis’ lifeline. It’s why they’re on this road trip. They’re trying to make new memories. Instead of arguing relentlessly, they’re making up for lost time. Dennis feels more stable, more put together, than he ever has before, and he has Mac to thank for that. He still has bad days - sometimes fucking awful ones - and spells of anger so hot and furious he can’t see straight, but it’s not all terrible now.

The wind stirs, awakening the trees and bringing the earth to life. Dennis listens to frogs croak and bugs buzz in the distance.

“We gotta go. You’re falling asleep, Den…”

Dennis shakes his head. “Five more minutes…”

“Nope. Sorry, bud. C’mon. Up.”

Mac helps him swing his legs around and plant them on the gravel. He’s wobbly and shaky as Mac holds his hand on the way back to the Rover. His ankle sore, he hops into the passenger seat, squishing his cheek to the window. Mac buckles him in. Dennis keeps his eyes on the escaping mountain view before the city lights blind him. He whines louder than he means to - he can’t help it - when they get to their hotel.

He’s sure they’re a sight to see as they hobble through the lobby. The front desk lady shakes her head at them. An entire day’s worth of grime on his skin, Dennis knows he looks like trash. This doesn’t represent him. Usually, he gets all worked up over his appearance, but a shower and a shared bed with Mac are calling his name. He ignores the hippo lady of the lobby and leans on Mac in the elevator. Mac keeps him grounded and steady. Dennis presses his nose into Mac's neck.

The moment they lock their door, Mac ushers him to a chair. “How’s your foot?”

Dennis shrugs. “Hurts. Not too bad though.”

Mac kneels down and unties Dennis’ shoelaces. He’s too sleepy to protest, to complain that he’s not a baby, to reassure Mac that he can take care of himself. Mac’s normally spotless, clean nails are caked in dirt. There’s a scratch on his forearm that looks irritated. Dennis is about to say something about it when Mac works his foot out of his shoe. Dennis bites his bottom lip and runs a hand through his hair, inhaling so sharply he’s sure he sprains his lung.

“Alright. Hopefully the swelling goes down by morning, and you’ll feel more better.” Mac stands, popping his back and rummaging through their shared, oversized suitcase. He throws a pair of boxers and one his own baggy t-shirts in Dennis’ direction. “You can have the first shower, Den.”

Mac escorts him to the bathroom. Dennis shifts his weight to his right foot as he lathers in his honey and passion fruit shampoo. Fuck, the water’s so warm and wraps around his body like a fuzzy blanket. He’s so ready for bed. He feels weird and vulnerable and not exactly like himself. He hasn’t even raised his voice today, which is definitely weird. But he’s always calmer when he’s alone with Mac. He doesn’t want to yell, obviously, but it’s such a part of his personality that he feels off when he’s quiet or peaceful for too long. He’s still here. He’s still human. He’s still capable of having emotions and acting on them. It’s nice. It’s refreshing for once.

After rinsing his body with lavender scented suds, he towel dries his hair, tugs on his clothes, and limps until he’s safely in bed. Fuck his nightly skincare routine. He wants to sleep, and this mattress is like heavy to his aching back. The AC blasts, igniting the fury Dennis’ muscles unleash when he’s cold. He’s like an old man. Poor circulation, he thinks. But Mac’s a savior and a saint. He elevates Dennis’ foot with a fluffy pillow, puts a baggy filled with ice and wrapped in cloth on his ankle, and pulls the covers up to Dennis’ chin.

Mac plants a slight, tender on his forehead. Dennis drifts off while Mac showers. Mac comes back smelling like his shampoo and body wash. Mac shifts until his face is hidden in Dennis’ shoulder, peppering more kisses on his skin. Dennis wants to reciprocate, tell Mac how much him and this trip means to him, but Mac starts snoring and drooling moments later.

Dennis smiles and lets Mac’s warm, minty breath on his neck lull him to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

They checkout two minutes before 10:00 AM, before Dennis has to shell out extra money to stay. They had a hard time getting going this morning. Once Mac lazily traced his fingers down Dennis’ chest, Dennis knew he was a dead man. So they fooled around under the covers and glanced at they clock at 9:34. They dressed quickly. Dennis styled his hair while Mac threw their dirty stuff in plastic bags and tossed them in the back of the Rover.

Now that their four day exploration of Colorado is over, they’re heading to California. Mac talks about summer, sun, boozes, and beefcakes, but, honestly, Dennis wouldn’t mind just tanning out on the beach with Mac. He doesn’t really care about anything else. Mac drives, carefully and focused, because Dennis’ ankle hurts. Being cramped up in a car for hours on end doesn’t exactly help. The sun beats down heavily on the black pavement, and Dennis twitches in the passenger seat, trying to find a comfy spot.

“Wanna stop for the day?” Mac asks the moment they pass through Colorado and into Utah. They haven’t been on the road long.

Dennis shakes his head, setting his jaw. “No.”

There’s this overwhelming sensation, an impending feeling of doom, inching up his spine. His heart feels so swollen. He leans his head back and focuses on breathing. He cannot breakdown now. Not now. He’s been doing so well the last few days.

“Hey,” Mac whispers. “Wanna smoke? It may take the edge off.”

Dennis shrugs. “Got anything loaded up?”

Mac fishes through the glove compartment while Dennis reaches over and keeps his hand on the wheel. He pulls out a big ass blunt. “Rolled it while you were in the bathroom,” Mac says proudly, lighting it and inhaling. “You take fucking forever in there, Den.”

Dennis hits it moments later, coughing and wiggling. “It takes time to look like good.”

“Well, you do look good, so I guess you’re right about that.”

Fuck, is he blushing? Please tell him he isn’t blushing.

He’s fucking blushing. Goddammit, Mac.

They’ve spent almost their whole lives together, but Dennis is just now beginning to understand who he really is and what he feels. He’s always cold, even in the middle of heat waves or particularly heated discussions, but Mac warms him instantly and in ways unimaginable. Mac just… He’s the first person to ever actually make Dennis feel something. It’s an accomplishment. Mac should be stoked about it because Dennis knows he’s not an easy person to get along with or even be friends with.

“Do you think…” he lets out a horrifyingly shaky breath; Jesus, pull it together. “Do you think we could ever be something more than this?”

Mac glances over at him, blunt hanging from his lips. “What do you mean?”

Dread courses through his veins. The Rover’s furiously hot. Sweat pools around the collar of Dennis’ (Mac’s) t-shirt. He pinches the skin on his arms so hard it immediately leaves welts. His breath catches in his tight throat. Fuck. He can’t. He can’t do this. Tears swell in his eyes. His stomach swims as he blearily watches Mac pull over.

“Hey,” Mac says, his hands warm on Dennis’ cheeks. “What’s going on up there?”

Dennis dies when Mac wipes his tears with his his thumb. “I think I might love you,” he blurts out.

Fuck. What the fuck? He means it. He knows he means it. But the words actually escaping his lips is an entirely different story.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Dennis rephrases, but it means the same thing: He loves Mac. “And I’m… scared.”

Mac frowns. “Why are you scared?”

“Because I’ve always pushed you away when you got too close! Because I make fun of you and say that I hate you and that you’re the most annoying person in the world! Which you are, by the way, easily the most annoying human being on the planet. But I just can’t help it! And now you’re looking at me like that with those stupid puppy dog eyes, and I don’t know if I can handle it. I don’t know if I can handle loving you… I’m a terrible person, Mac. I don’t want to hurt you, even if I imply that I do.”

Mac is grinning like a toddler idiot. “Aw, Den! You really do love me!”

Their foreheads touch. It’s uncomfortable because of the center console, but Dennis craves Mac so much that he’ll take a jab in the ribs any day.

“I love you too, Den. I always have.”

 

* * *

 

California is crowded and way busier than Philly, but the sand feels magnificent between Dennis’ toes. Mac wrapped his ankle before bounding excitedly out of their beachside condo. He sheepishly came back though, taking most of Dennis’ weight. They set up two umbrellas and two folding patio chairs as far away from the tourists as possible. Dennis pops off his shirts and grins as Mac does the same. His mass-tacked muscles stand out proudly against tan, freckly skin.

Dennis leans back, folding his hands behind his head and soaking up the summer sun. He dozes off to the smell of Mac smoking a joint. He drifts away to the sounds of ocean waves and seagulls and Mac flipping the pages of some motorcycle magazine he picked up at a gas station in Nevada.

“Scoot over, Den,” he hears.

He squints, warily opening his eyes. He moves without a second thought. Apparently, these are big enough for two people. Either that or Mac just missed him.

Dennis listens to Mac hum from beside him. Their bare skin nestled against one another, Mac tangles his fingers in Dennis’ hair and kisses his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
